“Jack Hart!” cried one and all, craning their necks in surprise and expectation.
“’Slife, a spy upon our merry-making!” exclaimed the displeased monarch. “What means this prowling, sir?”
“Pardon, pardon, my reply, your Majesty,” humbly importuned the player. “Blinded by passion, I might say that I should regret.”
“Your strange behaviour and stranger looks have meaning, sir,” cried the King, impatiently. “Out with it! These are too dangerous times to withhold your thoughts from your King.”
“No need for commands, Sire,” entreated Hart. “The words are trembling on my lips and will out themselves in spite of me. At Portsmouth’s ball, an hour past, I o’erheard that fop Adair boast to-night a midnight rendezvous here with Nell.”
Nell placed her hands upon her heart.
“This–my old friend,” she reflected sadly.
“Our jest turned earnest,” cried Charles. “Well? Well?” he questioned, in peremptory tones.
“I could not believe my ears, Sire,” the prisoner continued, faltering. “I watched to refute the lie–”
“Yes–yes–” exhorted the King, in expectation.